The Outlier
by ErinLisaA
Summary: Ella grew up in Memphis, and even though she believed in the paranormal, she certainly wasn't expecting to encounter it. Follow Ella as she learns about the hunting world and strives to become a part of it.
1. Central High's Resident Poltergeist

**Notes: **_This is my first story! Thanks to LilyBolt for hearing my idea and encouraging me to post it. I hope to continue this story for a long time. Now, I'm still new to all of this, so feel free to message me with any hints or ideas for the story. I don't have any plans for the Winchesters to be part of this, other than by word of mouth, because season 10 has not aired. As this takes place in modern day, give or take a few months, I have no plans in the near future of incorporating them (though I'll almost certainly slip in some references as this is a fic about the hunting world as a whole!) This chapter takes place A year before the rest of the story. Enjoy!_

Ben walks in front me, gripping the handle of the shotgun tightly. It feels weird to see him carrying a gun in our school, but I try to shake off the sentiment. I tread carefully, knowing the security cameras can see us, not wanting to be needlessly loud or fast. Hopefully we won't get caught - maybe they don't check the cameras every day.

We stop near one of the offending robots, which whirs a little melody as I watch it focus on us. I grimace as the beady eye, trapped in the black glass bulb, points right at me.

"The door to the fourth floor is probably locked." I mutter, setting down the duffel I'd had slung over my back. Ben unzips it and pulls out a rolled up leather case. It looks suspiciously like one of those thief kits you see on TV. "What is that?" I whisper urgently.

He looks up, a mischievous grin splitting his face. "Lockpicking kit. I got it in a pawn shop right before we moved. Best investment ever." He picks out two of the instruments and tiptoes to the door, testing the knob just in case before slipping the tools into the keyhole.

I begin to doze off, he struggles with the mechanism for so long. We'd snuck into the school before dawn broke, and through a distant window, I see golden light.

"Victory!" Ben says breathlessly as something clicks into place. He turns the knob again, and the door squeaks open. Flinching at the terrible sound, I join him, only to be faced by another obstacle.

Luckily, I'd expected this one. "Come on, Braeden. We gotta climb over." I pick up the duffel again, this time containing Ben's gun.

He's still staring at the precariously piled tables and chairs, but what he doesn't see is the neat succession of desks, connected to maroon and blue chairs, making a tunnel right up the treacherous flight.

Ben nods speechlessly, spotting me as I clamber on top of the first desk. I'm already halfway through the trundling journey when he finally jumps onto the desk, his short height making it a bit harder than it had been for me. For once, I'm glad I'm average height, though a good 5 or six more inches wouldn't have hurt.

I reach the top, where another set of double doors awaits me. I don't bother to check the handles, instead waiting for Ben to join me. My heart is pounding so loudly I'm sure the cameras on the flight below can hear it and are calling the police right now.

"Ready?" I ask quietly, my hands shaking as I hand him the shotgun and arm myself with a flashlight and three cans of rock salt–one in my hand, and another in each pocket of my hoodie.

Nodding at me, Ben reaches forward and turns the knob. It snaps off in his hand, and I'm about to start panicking when the door is whammed open.

On the edge of terror, we glance at each other, and he leads us in. My eyes flit to every shadow. Some look suspicious, but then I remember that the windows up here are caked in grime. My eyes adjust to the darkness, and I realize there's a constant ringing sound in my right ear, a humming in my left.

An old classroom door bangs open to our right, a cloud of dust surrounding us. Coughing wildly, Ben pulls his shirt up and over his nose. I zip my hoodie up completely, letting the normally flat collar cover my nostrils.

The survey of the room apparently goes well, as mere seconds later we're continuing down the hall. I begin to notice that it's similarly shaped to the ones below—a vague C. There are, of course, less staircases; the only one of the four with access to this floor is the one we came up. I peer into a couple of rooms. The ones on the outside of the hall, where windows would let in light if the dirt wern't so thick, are the same shape. However, I count extra classrooms on the inner sections, most likely due to the lack of stairs.

Our exploring is cut short when a locker, the paint peeling and chipping, slams shut. Several more follow suit, and suddenly we're frantic, running down the hall, and I don't even care as a cobweb hits my face, I just brush it away as best I can and sprint. I nearly run into Ben as he stops.

The humming and ringing are louder than before, combining to form words. No, not words. A name. "MonicaMonicaMonica," they mumble.

The syllables slip from between my shivering lips. "Monica?"

The sounds turn into a screech, and we hit the ground, hands so close to covering our ears but we can't. Ben can't drop his gun and I won't let go of our only light, or the canister, still unopened.

I feel a tap on my back. I'm about to turn and whack at the air with the light when I see Ben's face, and he's mouthing the words "salt circle" at me. I jerk my head up and down in understanding, my lungs bursting and I realize I haven't breathed properly for a good two or three minutes.

Carefully placing the flashlight in between us, I slide open the metal mouth to the salt, then trace a circle around us. It isn't perfect, far from it, but from what Ben's told me, it's not the circle part that matters as the "unbroken line." As long as both ends are connected, we're safe.

I try to give us room to move, and to my surprise, I'm successful; I am crouched near the edge, and Ben has scooted into the middle, flashlight now in his hand as he shines it on my work.

Satisfied that we can't be reached by the angry spirit, I relax enough for my heartbeats to slow. Making sure not to disturb the salt, I put down the container. Ben reaches into the bag and pulls out a little knife, sheathed in a leather holster.

"This is something that hunter I told you about showed me." He says, not bothering to whisper. "I soak it in holy water and salt everyday - hurts like a bitch when you cut a demon, and should dispel a spirit if you use it to disturb their form." He demonstrates, whipping it through the air, and I can just imagine a ghost tended helpless beneath his sweeping arm.

"Thanks," I croak. I grip the blade in my hand. "Do you know how to expel a poltergeist, anyway?"

A blush settles over Ben's face. "No, not really. There were a lot of suggestions on the Internet." He sipped a little water. "Most said something about burning it, but I figured we'd try the slightly safer and less arsonist route of convincing her to stop."

"Of course." I sigh, but I am smiling. He swigs even more water, and I stop him. "Don't drink too much at once."

He seems puzzled by this. "Why not?" He asks. "We brought a dozen. It's enough."

"Yes," I concede, "But that water goes somewhere. And we're trapped in a circle of seasoning." He immediately caps the drink, setting it down. I pull my empty bottle out and continue, "This can hold the, uh, waste."

He is red as a beet as he answers. I huddle in my section of the circle, and we discuss the classwork our teachers had assigned, despite the lack of school. We offer each other help with certain subjects, and contemplate the validity of a rumor that our end-of-course exams will be mailed to us at home, and a more popular gossip that every student would be required to repeat the year.

The discussion has continued for a long time; I don't have a watch, but Ben does, and he reads it. "It's been five hours since we came up here."

"That long?" I am surprised. "Part of me wishes I'd brought my phone."

Ben scoffs. "Yeah, and immediately get caught. GPS, Ella."

I wave the words away, leaning back. I begin to doze off. Without anything to amuse me, I'm restless. My napping is already fitful when Ben shakes my shoulder.

"Ella. Ella, behind you. Look!" I sit up, making sure not to disturb the salt, and turn my head.

I yelp, scrambling back, as best I can within a 3-yard wide circle and on all fours, as my eyes alight on a vague figure sitting just beyond our shelter.

"Monica Gonzalez?" I whisper, pointing at the figure. It nods… **she** nods. We stare at each other, the bodiless one flickering as her form becomes slowly more distinct. Her shapeless head soon distinguishes itself - this is hair, that is lip, and this is an eye. Within minutes I'm looking at a girl I somewhat recognize.

Never letting my eyes close or leave the specter, I reach into the duffel and pull out a book. It automatically flips to the page I'd studied so many times, the freshmen Es through Hs. Right in the middle, a beautiful black and white portrait is labeled with the name I'd breathed earlier.

Seeing my movement, the spirit, Monica, disappears, fading back into existence several feet back. Her mouth is open, and a vague whirring fills the air.

I point at the photograph, and say, "That's you. They still put you in the yearbook, even though you went missing three-quarters of the way through the year. That's you, Monica." I put down the book, hesitating before I say the next part of my speech.

"The woman we talked to about you, she said you were always sweet, and that you were intelligent. Everyone mourned your loss, and many didn't give up even after the police did."

Monica slips forward again, her hand reaching for me. I mirror her. "Please, stop hurting people. Your sister, your little sister, she's been contacted—your body will be given to her. She'll give you a proper send-off. You are loved, Monica."

A voice, young yet old, soft yet shrill, reverberates through the air. "Giselle?" I nod, my whole body shaking as the ghost considers my words. Relief floods me as Monica stands, the first true movement she's made. I stand with her. My weak legs protest, white noise wrapping around them, but I refuse to collapse as this force in front of me, unaccustomed to any type of physical movement, where I am constantly moving.

"Thank you." Monica's voice hangs in the air around us, and she walks down the hall. An electrification in the air subsides, something I'd not even noticed, and the little hairs all over my body are flat for the first time in a long time.

Satisfied, I do fall, my hands scattering the salt. I brush off Ben's fluttering hands, nodding my head as he asks if I'm okay. Recovering from my first encounter, my first, successful encounter, I crawl over the edge of the line. Ben follows, grabbing our equipment.

He helps me up, and supporting me, guides me through the hall. I stop him, and turn around. "Let's go back."

I pick my way back the way we've come, and finally, find what I've been looking for. I stand in front of the heavy doors, so like the others around the school.

Ben catches up to me, panting, "Another staircase?"

"Not just any staircase. This leads to the roof." I test the handle, and the rusted metal breaks off in my hand. I push the barricade with my shoulder, and as soon as I brush against it, it gives way. The door at the top reacts similarly, but a shiny chain and padlock are joining it to the other door. Ben takes out a lock pick and teases it, and we finally walk onto the roof.

"Why are we here?" Ben asks me. I stare at what's in front of me.

Tilting my head in his direction, I inform him, "There's a rumor about a swimming pool on the roof." Ben breathes a small "oh," and we walk forward together.

Sitting down, I hang my legs into the empty basin, the tiles beneath my feet now gray. Swiping my hand across a patch near me, they show their true color - pale blue. Ben whistles, and I laugh.

"It's real. The swimming pool is real." I observe the rest of my world, more chuckles bubbling from the depths of my heart. Hysteria claims me as I slide down into the dip. "It's real!"

Ben stares at my behavior, shaking his head. He is watching the sun sink below the horizon. "Ella, we've been gone nearly the entire day. We need to leave."

Twirling absently in the deep end, I say giddily, "Let them find us."

**Notes: **_Thanks for reading! Next time on **The Outlier**, Ella looks back on her hectic year. Please leave a review and follow for more! I'll try to respond to reviews :)_


	2. I Solemnly Swear I Had No Clue

**Notes: **_Thanks to LilyBolt for helping me bounce this idea off of her and for leaving a review (not to mention a warning that the formatting had gone wrong. Darn Macs!). This chapter, we get to the meat, and this takes place in about December of 2014, by my estimations._

It'd been a stressful year.

It all began with the dead body they found in the school. Identified as former student Monica Gonzalez, it had been in an old freezer since 1983. She'd gone missing in '81. She had one surviving family member, a sister named Giselle.

We all thought that was it. Nobody expected the girl's spirit to hang around. But that's exactly what happened. She began hurting teachers, trying to send the message that she was still there. Monica was furious.

We'd been out of school for weeks, and no more people had been hurt. Most teachers had taken their classes onto the Internet, where they posted assignments and notes for their students. My fellow seniors and I were told we'd be top-priority; we would definitely be graduating on time, and we'd still be able to get in the college of our choice. Didn't change the fact that we were livid.

One thing I wasn't expecting, though, was the new boy. Ben had only recently moved to Memphis, yet he was the first person besides the police to investigate what had happened. He came to me with it, and we found out from a former student about the fourth floor.

There were maybe two or three months left until the "school year" was supposed to end. We gathered the materials we'd need—salt, shotguns, empty rounds to pour the first item into. Ben even equipped me with a special knife.

I didn't want to use violence, so I didn't. I sat down and talked to Monica, showed her some of the stuff I'd brought. A yearbook with her picture, an official police report I'd gotten hold of showing that her body would be left with her sister, who would most certainly treat her well.

And so, even though Ben had said it would be a "salt and burn," in other words lighting a corpse on fire, I was able to negotiate with a poltergeist.

I still got into my favorite university, still got my full-tuition scholarship. I'd expected to leave the hunting world behind. Ben didn't want me to at first. Finally, we compromised. When I graduated college, he and I would team up and expel poltergeists all over the country. He would've been two years out of high school by then.

College started off pretty great. My roommate seemed cool—a sweet girl, African American, with long, natural, springy hair. Her name was Aaliyah. She'd grown up in Alabama, and she wasn't used to Memphis. I took her to all my favorite haunts, and she said I should visit her hometown.

By the end of the semester, Aaliyah decided to move rooms. We had frequent arguments; she liked to stay up late, and I preferred to keep an early-to-bed, early-to-rise schedule. We decided we could still be friends, but that she and another person would switch rooms. We always talked, and our friendship only grew.

To my surprise, my new roommate was even better. She respected my boundaries, and even though she stayed up late, she wasn't loud like Aaliyah had been. Her name was Rebecca, but she asked me to call her Bec. I respected that—I myself prefer to be called Ella, instead of Isabella, Izzy, or Bella. We probably first bonded over that similarity.

Bec was always nice. Even though she and I were polar opposites, we never fought—if we disagreed, we decided that both were right in some capacity.

One strange thing about her, though, was her interest in the paranormal. I might have expected it from a theology major if I didn't live in the Bible Belt.

She was constantly studying religious symbols and drawing them. She frequently taped papers filled with them to the walls; I had a feeling she would've painted them right on if it weren't for dorm rules.

When she learned about Ben and I's adventure with the poltergeist, she was oddly interested. Afterwards, she began sharing her own numerous paranormal experiences.

I didn't really pay attention to those for a while. I knew some people were more sensitive to those sorts of things; I figured she was one of them.

When the tortures started, Bec was oddly interested. She always visited the scenes afterward. I was slightly surprised when she started making one of those weird crime-tracker boards in our room, tacks and evidence and string, the whole bit.

Of course, I figured it was just a normal, CSI superfan kind of deal. I never thought she'd find a pattern, or that she'd go to the next one.

Or that she would see me there.

**Notes: **_Thanks for reading, and please leave a review! Next time on **The Outlier**, Ella recounts her second paranormal encounter - this one a bit more stressful.  
_


	3. The Cause

**Notes: **_Heyho, third chapter! I'm on a roll! Anyway, this time Bec and Ella will be having a little adventure. It's a multichapter one, so keep your eyes open!_

Bec ran in the door, slamming it behind her. I looked up from my reading quickly.

"Bec? It's 3 in the morning. Where were you?"

She stared at me as if she had seen a ghost. Hell, maybe she had. I never knew with her.

"You're here! Oh thank God… thank God. But, then, who was… who was that?!" She heaved, hand on her chest.

I hurriedly handed her my water, and she sat on the futon to chug it. As soon as she could speak, she said, "I found out where the next torture was. I went there, and… Rob. Oh my God, Rob was the victim. And the one doing the deed… Ella, it was you."

Floored, I stared at her. "I was torturing Rob?" My stomach dropped, then slung right back up. It tried to shove itself up my esophagus. Swallowing back bile, I asked, "What do you mean?"

Bec ignored me, getting up and pacing the small living space. "It must have been a shapeshifter. Or a skinwalker. Something, something… a doppelganger? No, those are rare. Only about three to five cases, depending on whether you look at just the States or the whole world…"

I took her spot on the couch, mulling over the words. "A shapeshifter?"

She stopped. "Yes. Yes, that must be it. A shapeshifter took your form and is committing crimes as you."

Something rattled the window. We both flinched, but soon a bird flew away. I calmed down and inquired further, "What does this mean?" I swept my arms out. "Is all that stuff you'd been talking about real?"

"Of course it is." Bec said. Confused, she looked at me. "You have encountered a poltergeist, correct?"

I nodded. Bec continued, "Then you should already know."

Fed up, I yelled, "Ghosts and shit are not the same as shape shifters! What are you gonna say next, vampires are real? Werewolves?!"

"Uh…"

I stormed into our room, slamming the door behind me.

—

"Ella? Ella, please come out. It's time for class." I awoke to Bec's voice outside my door. I was sleeping on top of the covers, my laptop beside me. I lazily hit the spacebar, and found a google search of the paranormal. Wow—what made me think Google would be able to answer?

I rolled out of the bed, my feet finding the little stool below. I couldn't help but wonder why Bec hadn't come in, but she must have realized I needed my space. "I'm coming," I mumbled.

I heard her walk away. I pulled on some clothes and opened the door. Bec hurried in and changed as well.

"I'm sorry about last night." She said as she yanked a shirt over her head.

I slipped into my shoes and started braiding my hair. "Don't be. It was my fault."

She was silent for a little while, trying to fix her thin blond hair, but gave up. As we walked out of the door, she said quietly, "We cool?"

I grinned. "We cool."

—

Fifteen minutes into our class, a police officer walked in. I folded the note Bec and I had been passing, discussing the case, and watched the officer as he spoke with our professor.

I nudged Bec. "What do you think he's here for?" I said quietly. Bec shook her head and moved her pen.

Handing her the paper in my hands, she scribbled one word.

You.

My stomach dropped as the officer pointed at me. My professor confirmed our suspicions when she said, "Ella Ryker? This officer would like to speak with you."

I stood, my legs jelly, my mouth cottony. Collecting my things, I nodded and stumbled out of the row, tripping down the aisle.

I followed the officer out of the classroom. He didn't stop, instead leaving the hall and unlocking a squad car parked in front. I froze as soon as we were outside.

"Ma'am, please don't make this difficult. We just need you for questioning." He motioned towards the car. His partner, a woman with dark hair and skin, was sitting in the driver's seat.

Finally I relented. "Okay."

Relieved, the young officer opened the back door. I slid in and tried to ignore the hand-shaped gap in the seat behind me. I just tried to be happy that I wasn't in cuffs.

—

I was lead into the precinct by he female officer, as the other one had to make a report. She chatted with me, but she seemed hostile. Finally, I asked her name.

"Officer Bette Jackson." She told me, her expression softening. My voice had been shaky. "I'm assuming you know what you're here for?"

"Yes." I confirmed, trying to keep my eyes on hers.

"How?" She asked, a puzzled look crossing her face. "How do you know?"

I sighed, not willing to rat out Bec but knowing I would have to. Maybe it would help prove me innocent. "My roommate has been following the events. She went to the latest one while it was happening; she figured out a pattern. She said she saw me."

The officer gave me a sharp look. "What's her name?"

"Rebecca Jaenisdottir."

"Thank you." The officer said as she led me into an interrogation room. The walls were hard concrete, one of them interrupted by a smooth mirror. I tried not to look at it, knowing from all the crime shows what would be on the other side.

I stood in front of the simple wooden table, unsure what to do. "Sit down on the other side," Officer Jackson told me, "I'll be right back."

She walked out and locked the door behind her. My heart started beating, and I couldn't help but tear up. How was I supposed to get out of this?

I was still standing in the middle of the room when Jackson came back, another officer with her. She gently took my arm and guided me to my seat, then pulled a pack of tissues out of her pocket.

"I thought you might need these—looks like I was right," She said, and I touched my cheeks. Sure enough, they were covered in tears.

Numbly, I sat down in the seat, pulling apart the packet. As I dabbed at my face, the second officer spoke. He had a gruff voice, and his eyes were shrewd. "What is your name?"

I hurried to put down the tissue. Sniffing, I said, "Isabella Ryker."

"Very good… and where were you last night?"

"In my dorm room. 217 in Maurelian Hall, Christian Brothers University." I folded my hands in front of me on the table. "I was reading a book, but I did look something up online. You can check my internet history. It was at about midnight, maybe 12:30."

He turned to Jackson, who whispered to him. I had trouble hearing, but I figured out his name was Carr. Finally, Jackson continued.

"Jackson tells me your roommate witnessed the crime. Saw you."

"She didn't tell you?" I asked, confused. "I thought that was how you knew about…"

Understanding lit Jackson's eyes. "No, the victim was awake. First to not slip into a coma; one Robert Schreiner."

"Rob." I whisper. "Bec told me it was him."

"And this Rebecca was at the scene?" Carr continued, angry that Jackson had just told me apparently sensitive information.

"Yes."

"How did she know?"

I answered, "She had one of those CSI things in our room. String, tacks. I think she found a pattern." My stomach churned at the thought of what she had gotten herself into.

"Well, that explains one thing. We'll have to talk to her, as well."

**Notes: **_Thanks for reading! If you could leave a review, that would be great. Next time on **The Outlier**, things get serious, and Ella has to make a quick decision._


	4. The Effect

**Notes: **_Here's the fourth chapter! I've been trying to figure out a posting schedule, and I'm thinking I'll drop a chapter every Wednesday, and if it's below 1,000 words like the second chapter was, you'll also get one on Sunday. Thanks for sticking with me this far; now, things get a wee bit more exciting._

Bec finished explaining, and i just sat there. What in the world was going on? A shapeshifter?

"What did you tell the police?" I asked her, trying to figure this all out.

"I told them I'm hoping to write crime novels, and this helped me gain an understanding of the police's methods. They bought it, and that I probably just mistook the perpetrator for you."

I flopped onto the couch, releasing a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. "Oh, thank god." I realized there was one thing I hadn't asked her. "And Rob?"

"He's fine, just in a coma. They think he'll pull through still able to play sports." I was relieved; Bec's boyfriend's one true passion had been soccer.

Bec tried to be cool as she walked over to the mini fridge, but she was obviously on edge. "I'm glad the police are off our tail, but it's gonna be hard to operate with them on edge."

"Operate?" I asked, heart speeding up as she said this.

"Yes." A mischievous glint shone in her eyes, and I found myself intrigued. "We got to kill it, Ella."

Killing things. Great. "You know I'm a pacifist, Bec."

"Is that why you blabbed to the police?"

I couldn't help but gape at her.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you to wait for an attorney before saying anything?" She asked me, cracking open a can of soda. I shook my head, stomach hitting the floor.

I swallowed, my mouth cotton-dry. "But I was innocent," I floundered, "I thought…"

"Doesn't matter what you thought." Bec said as she sipped her Coke. "They take your Miranda Rights seriously—you talk, they twist."

Ashen, I stood up. "I'm going to bed."

"You do that," Bec said lightly. "I'm going out."

I waved her off, clutching my head as I felt a headache coming on. "Text me if anything bad happens."

She muttered, "Yeah, yeah yeah…" before slipping off into the night, wary of any security guards.

—

I jolted awake to a single pinging sound, a light film of sweat over me. I shivered in the cold night air, searching the nightstand for my phone. I cursed as I knocked it off, but finally opened it.

Cringing from the blinding light, I read the text.

help m

† bec †

As soon as the words registered, I flipped on the lights. The large board on the other side of the room glared at me as I pulled on a pair of sweats, and I nearly tripped as I leaned in to see it. Damn, I was blind.

"Kendrick… oh no, Kenrick Hall. Shit." I deciphered the building with a huge red circle around it, and the date.

Luckily she was close, and had clearly marked the location. I began to rush from the room, only stopping to look at the box on Bec's desk.

"There's some important things in there," she'd said. "If one of us is ever in danger, you get it, ok?"

I grabbed the box, tearing off the lid. More of Bec's words rang in my ears.

"Now shifters, they're tricky, All the lore on them is different, but the one consistent thing is how you kill 'em—silver to the heart. You only get one chance."

Sifting through the contents of the box (weapons mostly, plus a few small books), I found a silver butterfly knife. I flipped it open, and upon seeing the pointy end, I split and run.

—

Kenrick Hall had once been a grade school before catering to the college. I was usually charmed by the quaint lockers lining every hall, but tonight, they seemed to be holding secrets behind weak metal hinges.

I gripped the knife in my hand, listening for the telltale cries of torture.

I had nearly given up hope when a muffled yelp sounded behind me. I pivoted, eyes locked on the classroom, and crept up.

I could barely see the figures through the frosted glass panes set high in the door. As I got closer, I began hearing words; "kill you slowly," "make you beg," "what's it like," friend killing you." I shivered at the last one.

I prayed that the hinges had been oiled recently, and gripped the doorknob. I opened the door swiftly and called upon every fiber of my being as I threw the knife.

It embedded itself in me.

I shrieked as I fell, then ran to Bec. I jumped over my dead body and groped at the knots of rope, but gave up and retrieved the knife from the corpse.

I tried not to retch as I pulled the silver from my own body; no, not mine. A shifter. It was real.

Bec's gasping wrenched me from my trance, and I hurried to free her. As I cut the ropes, her sobs grew louder.

"Bec. Bec, listen to me. We have to get out of here. I'm going to my car." I hurriedly wiped the handle of the knife, and placed it in her hand. "You did this, okay? You killed me, you got out. Go and get the campus police."

She finally looked at me, what little color had been in her face draining. Shit. "Bec, stay with me. Tell them you're leaving the school. Pack up your things, and take some of mine, like my books and some clothes. Then come to my car—pretend its yours. Get in and drive."

Bec nodded, the movement nearly imperceptible. I tried to ignore the cuts on her face, the obvious break in her arm. I didn't consider the bruises she would bear, or the ribs she would need wrapped. I just sprinted.

—

I'd been in the car for several hours before my blanket was lifted. A duffel was thrown at my head, and I moved it to look at Bec.

"Hey," I said weakly unsure as her eyes widened.

"Yo." She replied, wriggling her fingers. Her left arm was bent into a cast, held tightly to her side by a sling. "Where we headed?" She closed the door before I could answer.

"Ben's house." I breathed, knowing she was just ignoring me so no one would know I was here. "Are you… I mean, um… are you and I—"

"We're fine." She said bluntly as the car sidled up to a security booth. She flashed her ID and the guard nodded, waving her through. I was never more thankful that my black hair matched the interior of my Spark.

"Oh, thank god." I whispered, Leaning back. I shoved my duffel under my head.

Bec was silent for a couple minutes before asking me, "Ben lives down by Cooper Young?"

"Yeah, on Evelyn." I replied, closing my eyes. Now that we were off campus, I felt safer.

My head spun as we careened through corners. I barely felt the breaks as we crawled to a stop in front of Ben's house.

I sat up, shaking the blanket off of me, and pulled myself out of the car. Dawn's fingers were gripping the sky as we scurried into the backyard; I turned to Bec and asked for her phone.

"Why?" She whispered back, a confused look crossing her face.

"I don't have it. I dropped it back at the, uh. Scene." I hissed. Finally holding the phone, I typed in the correct number and counted the rings.

One. Nothing.

Two. Bedroom light on.

Three. Silhouettes of pillows.

Four. A boy standing in front of the window.

Five. A voice.

"Hello?" Ben rasped, his voice stained with sleep.

I felt happiness seep through my tired body. "Ben," I practically sobbed.

"Ella? What's going on?"

"Will you let us in?" I quavered, fighting to keep the actual tears away.

The curtain was yanked aside, revealing Ben's shaggy brown hair and piercing green eyes. The face and voice disappeared as quickly as they had come. "Hold on."

Mere seconds later, I tumbled into Ben's arms, my body beginning to shake. "Ben, I'm dead."

Taken aback by my outburst, Ben only said, "My mom's asleep," and led us up to his room.

Once we were all seated in his room with cups of hot chocolate, Bec and I explained what had happened. Ben's mouth eventually stopped closing at all, and his hot chocolate solidified.

"I know it's hard to believe," I admonished, draining the last of my own mug. Bec nodded sagely, wincing.

Ben shook his head, moving to place his mug on the nightstand. "No, I believe you. There's some nasty shit out there. Dean, my mom's ex-boyfriend, fought it on a regular basis. He made sure I knew about it. But… dead? How can you be dead?"

"The shapeshifter had become me, had leeched my memories." I told him, feeling sick as I imagined the creatures sinking its claws into my brain. "My phone is even in that room."

"Which is why you didn't call me on that." He connected, mind finally wrapped around the situation.

Smiling carefully, I told him, "But I had to tell you the truth. I couldn't bear the thought of you thinking I was really dead. You're one of my best friends. You and Bec are so important to me."

"Is it because you like people with 'Be' in their name? Is your other BFF named Beverley?" Ben joked.

I blushed, unwilling to admit how close to the truth that was.

Ben stayed still, mulling something over in his mind. He finally walked over to his dresser and picked something up.

"This is yours." He said, holding the object out to me. I accepted it, recognizing the life he'd given me. "You keep it; I can make a new one."

Even though the gesture was simple, I felt tears welling up behind my eyes. "Ben…" I blubbered, trying to wipe my tears away.

My best friend wrapped his arms around me, then pulled a large book off of a shelf. "Here," he said, flipping the cover open to reveal a large wad of cash.

Widening eyes on the money I tried to refuse. "Ben, I know what that's for. Please, no—"

"You are more important than a car, Ella. Besides, I'll be able to make up for it." He folded my hand around the money. "It's about $200. Use it for gas, and cheap food." He turned to Bec now. "Take care of her. I trust you, but I won't hesitate to find you and kill you if you let her get hurt."

Bec chuckled, standing from the beanbag she'd been reclining in. "Sure, short stuff."

As we dashed back out to the car, Ben waved from the front door. I waved back as long as I saw his house.

**Notes: **_I brought back Ben for you guys :') In my original plans, he wasn't going to be in more than that original storyline, and I even toyed around with not telling him about Ella's survival. Lucky for you I was nice! Next time on **The Outlier**, Ella and Bec hit the road._


	5. Here We Go Again

I sit back in the seat, the traffic jam in front of us moving excruciatingly slow. "How is this an improvement from before?" I wonder, sliding my foot off the breaks.

"We're actually moving." Bec supplies, pulling her hood over her eyes. The sun is shining directly onto us, so I reach over and pull down the shaders. My oh-so-pleasant companion grumbles and turns a little. I can't see her eyes past her shades, but I know what she's doing.

"Hey, don't go to sleep." I shake her, yanking the fabric covering her head away. "Unless you tell me where we're going, I'm lost."

She sighs, flipping me off. "I'm not telling you where we're going."

"Gee, you're so nice. I shouldn't even be driving anymore."

"Just trust me!" Bec cries, and I slam the breaks, causing her sunglasses to fall off. I can easily see her black eye, and the nasty cut above, slicing through her eyebrow. Her dark skin has paled around the edges of the gash.

Slamming her plaster-encased wrist onto the dash, she yells, "Please!" Bec looks desperate.

Finally, I agree. "Fine. Although I don't get why." She leans back again, relief sloughing away her negative emotions, and I focus on the road again. "Do we have to exit soon?"

Bec shakes her head. "No, not at all. Can I just take a nap until we get out of the traffic?"

"Okay, fine." She gratefully resumed her sleeping position.

"Turn at Exit 36," Bec says, watching the exit signs. "It's coming up. Georg, Ohio."

I squint at the sign we're passing. "Georg? Isn't there some joke on the internet about Georg?"

She laughs. "Yep. 'Spider Georg should not have been included in the survey' or whatever. I like to think that I live in the Spider Georg of the hunter's network."

Confused, I look at her. "How many hunters live there?"

"Nearly everyone there is one. There was a big problem with vampires a while back, so most of the residents decided to take a stand.

We once again reach a jam. I stop and study Bec; she's peering out the window, and her hands are shaking. I look at her reflection and realize she's been crying. "Bec? Are you alright?"

She swipes at the tears dripping down her cheeks. "Perfect. Just peachy. On top of the world."

I quickly pulled onto the shoulder, parking the car. "Bec, don't lie to me. What is making you scared?" I opened the glovebox at her knees, pulling out a wad of fast-food napkins.

Accepting the offering, she said, "I'm not scared."

"I've known you for a year, Rebecca. Don't lie to me. Please." I sighed, exasperated.

Bec looked down at the wrinkled tissue in her lap. "We're going to my home." A sob wracked her body. "My mother's house."

"Your mother?!" I screeched, flooded by memories of Bec, drunk and broken, stuttering that **she** was there, that **she** was hurting her. Finally, I'd convinced my friend to tell me the truth about her childhood. "We can't!" I continued, looking for some way to get back on the highway, trying to figure out where we could go.

"We have to!" Bec grabbed my arm, keeping me from putting the car in drive. I stopped, the only sound coming from the turn signal. "You need a new identity. My mom's the only one that can do it." She searched my face, her eyes wide and frantic.

I took my hand from the wheel. "Isn't there someone else in Georg who can do that? Or anyone else anywhere?" She shook her head.

"No. I can't go anywhere in Georg anyway, they'd all tell my mom I was there. Not to mention she does all that crap for the town anyway. And the only other people who could have done that are dead."

"Dead?" A weight dropped in my stomach. "How?"

Bec motioned to a new gap in the cars, and I pulled in. She explained, "Hunting is a dangerous business, no matter how you go about it. Even if you only focus on the lore, and making identities, something's gonna show up on your doorstep, and it will kill you. It kills everyone." She resumed her position at the window. "I haven't heard of a single hunter who didn't die because of a monster."

"Lovely." I said dryly, wondering if I could reconsider my decision to hunt.

"This is it." Bec points through my window.

I follow her finger, my eyes landing on a two-story house beside us. "It looks nice." I comment, my stomach rumbling. "Is there food in there?"

"You bet. If there's anything my mom was actually good at, it was feeding me." We slid into the driveway, right behind a huge truck. Bec tumbles out, stretching her legs gratefully. I follow suit, though more cautiously. The walls of the house are a warm teal color, and the roof is plain black shingles; it looks normal enough, but I know what has happened in that house. I know the truth.

We get our bags out of the back, her an old duffel bag and me a small suitcase. It was all that would fit in the tiny back of my car.

Bec leads me to the front door, pulling a key out of her pocket. After letting us in, she calls out, "Momma?" She walks further in, dropping her duffel on the table. I carefully set down my bag, glancing around. "Momma, I'm back. And I have someone I want you to meet."

A voice drifts toward us from a room off to the right. "Rebecca? Natane, is that you?" a woman with dark skin just like Bec's pokes her head through the archway. "Ah, Natane!"

"Natane?" I whisper to Bec. She chuckles back, "It means 'daughter.'"

"Yes, Gaho. It's me." She once again tells me, "Gaho means 'mother.'"

Bec's mother is certainly Native American. Her hair is thick and dark, her eyes nearly black. Her skin is a rich russet brown color, and she has strong bones. There's a feather in her hair, a hawk feather—or it would be if it wasn't pink and sparkly.

"Natane, why are you here? And you is your friend?" She smiles at me, walking out to join us in the foyer. "I'm Macawi, but please, call me Gaho."

"It's very nice to meet you, Macawi. . . um, Gaho." I say politely. "Is Macawi also a Native American name?"

Macawi answers, "Yes! It is a Sioux name meaning 'generous.' And now I'll live up to that—please, make yourself at home. May I ask why you're not at school?" This question is directed at Bec, who squirms beneath the daggers.

"There was an incident." Bec began, moving to sit on the couch.


	6. Time Passes

Our time with Macawi was generally spent making fake IDs, replacing my license plate, and similar activities. Bec seemed fairly used to it all, but I had trouble accepting the crimes.

"You cannot continue being Ella Ryker," Bec yelled, over and over, as I broke into a nervous sweat. "You need to remake yourself!"

"I know, I know," I muttered every time, attempting to still my hands as I worked on whatever the day's task was.

Now, with an ID from nearly every state, a pen, and a piece of paper, I practice my new signature.

_Eleanor Hoffman. Eleanor Hoffman. Eleanor Hoffman._ I repeat the two words, now void of what little meaning they'd originally held, as I study Macawi.

The beautiful woman, her Indian heritage obvious in her thick hair and wise eyes, works at "the phones" all day. The first few times I'd heard her tell Bec she would be "working the phones," I'd been confused, until I realized the little greenhouse off the side of the living room had been repurposed. Once, while Bec was in charge and Macawi was getting groceries, I'd wandered in.

Bec had glanced up at me, a mundane look on her face. "Welcome to Hell."

Though I doubted this was truly Hell, I nodded. The pain in Bec's eyes and her unwillingness to look at me had slowly been receding, but it was still tough.

"What is all of this?" I asked her, waving my arm at the bank of telephones—everything from old-fashioned rotaries to Androids and iPhones—and raising an eyebrow.

Sitting up in the rolling chair, Bec indicated the notes stuck on each one. "Fake call lines."

I leaned forward, reading a faded tag on a wall phone. "FBI?"

Explaining carefully, Bec told me how hunters often posed as law enforcement. Real officers would sometimes get suspicious and demand to speak to a higher-up. Macawi had long served as Georg's voice of the FBI, CIA, and numerous national parks.

She also ran a print house for fake IDs and dealt with creating new or alternate identities for hunters, down to the last details. Ella herself had been completely transformed, including her Tennessee plates being switched out for Ohio ones.

Admittedly, she was impressed, and the adrenaline rush some of the activities gave her was great. But the day she visited the high school was a somber occasion.

"There's something about the apocalypse that makes you paranoid," Bec told her as they walked down the street. "We teach everything from self defense to the history of the supernatural in our school. Some classes are even required."

"Required?" Ella replied, squinting at her friend in the sunlight. "Like what?"

"Some mixed martial arts, basic self defense, a beginner's course in mythology. Basically the things to help you get by as any other human being, but safer."

Bec stopped in front of Georg High School, which is across the street from the elementary and middle schools. The gym is probably the largest building.

Glancing at her watch, Bec taps the screen. "It's just after 12:30, so the seniors will be practicing. Come on."

Ella soon found herself walking behind between eighteen year olds with guns, all shooting with surprising accuracy at targets across the room. "It's like that movie," she mutters, "The one with the factions."

"Divergent?" Bec supplies. "Yeah, some do compare it to that."

"I can't imagine what it's like to be graded on…your ability to murder."

"Well, this class is an elective, specifically designed for the hunter track."

"The hunter track?"

"Yeah. Other schools have two credit tracks—trade school and university. Here, we have a third one, which trades off some fine arts and piles on intensive physical and lingual training."

Ella was shocked. "Lingual? Why do they need to learn languages?"

"Mostly the ancient, lost tongues. Most documents associated with the supernatural, the ones that tell you how to kill the thing that goes bump in the night, are in old and long forgotten dialects of Bohemian Rhapsody."

Before Ella can ask what she means, Bec says, "Not the song."

—

As soon as a few of their IDs and the car are ready, Ella and Bec head out for some less risky jobs. Most are poltergeists or restless spirits.

Given the chance to show off, Ella talks each and every ghost into the afterlife. By their fifth haunting, Bec is flabbergasted.

"I never thought we could skip the salt and burn. This is so much better than desecrating graves."

"I know. That's why I do it," Ella quips, eyes focused on the road. There's nothing she hates more than when Bec looks at her instead of the highway; too risky. She can't make the same mistake.

Whistling her approval, Bec gushes, "But really, you're like that Jennifer Love-Dove or whatever. Ghost Whisperer."

"Love Hewitt."

"Yeah, that one."

—

We stand in the middle of the room. I am shivering, despite my thick black coat. Bec is still at first, but eventually, she slides her own jacket off. She's wearing a sheer black dress, with plain pantyhose and ballet flats to match. Her long hair is curled and drifts around her face, which is caged by a netting attached to a flowery headband. It's the prettiest I've ever seen her.

I just wish it wasn't for such a terrible reason.

Realizing Bec has moved to the kitchen, I slough off my layers—heavy coat, thin sweater. I'm left wearing a short black dress, which covers me from the bottom of my neck to just above my knees. My head feels heavy with the tresses I've coiled on top of it. I reach up and pull out a pin, and it all tumbles down over my shoulders.

"Bec, what are you doing?" I ask, going to sit at the counter. The place still looks the same. My friend has opened a cupboard; I can see several bottles inside.

Searching for a certain label, Bec informs me, "There's no one to stop me now." She pulls out some red wine, and asks me if I want any. Before I can even answer, she's poured it into two stemmed glasses. "To the biggest bitch the world has ever seen."

Silent, I sip the wine. It's bitter; I spit it out, spluttering. "An acquired taste." Bec says, downing her whole glass and replenishing it. "Have you never had wine before?"

"Not really," I tell her. "I mean, little sips when I was younger—I went to a church that used the real stuff, not grape juice. But technically, I haven't." I offer her the rest of mine.

She pushes it back across the counter. "Ah, that doesn't count. You'll have to get used to it. Rule number one of the hunting network. Know how to keep your alcohol down."

"Maybe some other time." I slide off of the chair. "I'm going to go get changed."

Up in our room, I glance around. Technically we won't have to share anymore, not now that Macawi is gone, reduced to a pile of ashes. I start to remove my dress, and as I mechanically pull on my clothes, I think about the funeral.

Georg, in fear of hauntings, has ordinances in place that require all deceased be cremated. Every funeral buries an empty coffin, and the family is given the urn. I can't help but wonder why they still have a graveyard; it only wastes space.

Even personal possessions have to be burned. Macawi's room has been stripped of everything but the furniture. Even the bed covers were removed, though I suspect that was because they'd been splattered with blood. I wander into the empty bedroom.

Though I'd never been close with the woman, and hated the way she treated her children, I'd come to respect her. She was efficient, and good at what she did. The identity we'd put together had yet to fail me, and I hadn't even had a chance to use either of my back-up personas.

A crashing sound pulls me out of my reverie. I dash down the stairs and find Bec slumped onto the counter. "Bec?!" I cry, rushing to her side. A piece of glass pierces my foot. "Bec! Get away from the glass."

She's so drunk that I easily pull her away from the kitchen. I walk on the toes of my right foot, but I look down and see that I'm trailing blood on the white carpet. Ignoring the injury for the moment, I wrestle with Bec.

"No!" She shrieks suddenly, eyes flying open. "Don't touch me. . ." Her anger dissolves into terror. I back away from her; I've seen this before, on our travels.

"I'm not a shifter." I tell her calmly. I accidentally step on the glass lodged in my foot, pushing it further in. Wincing, I hold my hands up and sit on the coffee table across from Bec.

"That's what makes you one!" She sobs, burying her head in her arms. I look at her, and relief falls over me as I realize she's not been hurt. Bec is just drunk, so drunk she's sunken into her memories. I can't do anything to help her.

Trying to be quiet, I pull an afghan over her shoulders. I go back into our room, where I fall onto the bed. I've already begun to drift off when I remember my injury.

I limp into the bathroom, and am in the middle of digging out the glass when Bec begins yelling again. Her words are clear.

"Don't touch me! No, don't. . . please, no, you're not Ella! You're not her." Soon her screams begin to dissolve into wordless mumbles, and I am still sitting on the toilet when they died down to muffled sobs. My heart breaks as I hold myself back. I want nothing more than to hurry to her side.

I finish cleaning the gash on my foot, wrapping it with a bandage, and I go back down to clean up the glass. Now wearing slippers, I sweep up the shards and wipe up the wine dripping off the edge of the counter. Finally, the kitchen is clean. I am taking out the trash bag when I hear a voice.

"Ella?" Surprised, I turn to see Bec sitting up. "Ella, what's going on?"

"You got drunk off of a single bottle of wine." I inform her, holding up the bag. "Then you broke it and passed out.

"It had more than just wine, Ella." Tears flood her eyes. "Vodka. It had vodka in it. Momma, she always had some of that in the house after Papa died."

My heart breaks. "Why would you, then? If you saw what she was like after drinking that stuff." I sit beside Bec on the couch; she flops into my lap.

"It's the only way I know." Bec sobs. I card my fingers through her thin hair, unsure of how to answer. She continues, "Even before now, whenever I felt sad or lonely, I'd drink."

Still petting her, I say quietly, "That's not good. Drinking isn't the answer. Just because your mom thought it was doesn't mean you should."

My words, however, fell on deaf ears. Bec's drifting off to sleep. I don't want to move her now that she's finally calmed down, so I settle down where I am, leaving the kitchen light on, the trash bag in the middle of the floor. What matters now is my friend.


	7. Wendigo

Bec joins me in the car, waving goodbye to the couple standing in the door. "Take care, and call us when the baby is here!" She calls, a false cheerfulness making her voice high pitched.

They wave at us, the woman's arms wrapped around her belly and head leaning on her husband's shoulder.

"They're good people," I say, putting the car into gear. Though I hadn't been shocked when Bec decided to leave the house, I'd been blindsided by the ensuing rental agreement.

"Oh, yeah. They were seniors when I was a freshman; both of them know how to work the phones, so they're perfect." She settled in, knocking her cast against the door panel.

"You probably should have gotten that off ages ago," I pointed out. "We should stop at the hospital to get that done before we go."

"Alright," Bec agrees, before disappearing behind her sunglasses.

Ella can't help but feel that Bec is being too genial; only a fool wouldn't see the storm brewing.

—

The newspaper rustled in the wind, and a burger wrapper nearly flew off of the table. I grabbed for it, but couldn't catch it in time.

"See anything good, Bec?" I asked, stomach churning. Bec was searching the local headlines for a so-called _real case_.

Turning the page, Bec tried to lean back on her hand, but was interrupted by her new wrist brace. "Damn thing," she muttered before answering my question. "Not your kind of good, I'm afraid."

"Oh? And what exactly is 'my kind' of good?"

"Hauntings, poltergeists. Things you can talk down from the ledge."

"And what have you found which can't be reasoned with?"

Bec slapped the paper on the picnic table, using her soda to pin down a corner. "Wendigo."

I followed a pointing finger to the article in question. "Fifth hiker to go missing in 3 weeks," she read aloud. "What did you say did this?"

"Based on the description, a wendigo. They're like super cannibals." Bec curled her fingers in and bared her teeth. "They're so full up on human flesh they become strong and inhuman."

Grimacing, I asked, "What about it?"

"Only way to kill one is with fire."

I glanced at the picture of the park the hiker got lost in. A large forest with bright greenery and a winding river graced the page.

"Fire? In the woods? Smokey would not be happy." I joked, stomach flipping again.

Jumping up from the table, Bec folded the paper and crumpled what was left of the trash. As she tossed the rubbish into the garbage, she said over her shoulder, "But the hikers will."

Sighing, I followed suit, and chucked the keys at my companion. "You lead the way, then."

A smile broke across Bec's face. "No shit?! I can drive?" She whooped, leaping up and punching the air before unlocking the car.

"Don't hurt her," I warned, worry for my precious ride joining my nerves about the new case.

—

We stopped at a Walmart for a tent and a couple of sleeping bags before heading to the park. Bec also putted around in various sections of the store before emerging with a lighter, hairspray, and rubber bands.

"What is that for?" I sighed, imagining the horrible results.

"This, Ella, is for the friendly neighborhood wendigo." She answered, licking her lips in anticipation. "We put these things together and ta-da, flamethrower!"

The scientist in me scratched its brain. "I don't think that's how it works, Bec."

"Just give me a chance, will ya?" She grumbled, sitting heavily in the passenger's seat as she wrestled with the lighter.

"No, no. Not in the car." I ordered, taking the item from her. "You get this back when we get a slightly less flammable area."

—

"You two are aware of the recent disappearances, yes?" The ranger asked them, handing over a sheaf of paperwork.

"Yes," Bec said, a grin on her face. "But we have tracking devices on our phones and loved ones in the wings."

I tried my hardest not to scoff at the lie, and simply nodded along. Anything to get us in.

"Well, you're clear. Sit down and fill these out, then you can drive up to the sites. Yours will be pretty far back into the woods, but not the farthest; those are off limits due to the recent incidents.

Though I'd promised myself not to speak, I couldn't help but notice the sadness in his eyes, so I asked the ranger, "You loose someone close to you?"

The old man stood up straight, his eyes glassy with tears. "Yep, the first couple hikers were my son and granddaughter."

"I'm so sorry. I hope they're found soon." I told him before joining my friend.

Bec glanced up. "If experienced hikers are being taken, this thing is good."

"Experienced? How do you know they're experienced?"

"Dude, they're related to Rick Ranger over there. Probably grew up on the park, or are in the process of."

Shrugging, I murmured my agreement. Instead of carrying on the rather depressing conversation I went over the research I'd done on wendigos in the car and signed the papers Bec handed off to me.

_Cannibals turned Eleanor Hoffman monster by the EH sheer amount of Eleanor Hoffman human flesh consumed._

"Well, there's the last of it," Bec interrupted my thoughts, putting one final page in front of me. I initialed and then added it to the stack by my elbow.

"That's a lot of paperwork for a park."

"Eh, the wildlife must be a bitch. Now come on."

Getting up, I followed Bec back up to the counter, where she left the papers. "See ya in a couple days!" She called, flouncing through the door.

—

Bec plucked the homemade flamethrower from the car door, getting out in a flash of dark skin and platinum blonde hair. I stared at her figure, clad in denim shorts and a tee with shorn-off sleeves. A neon green sports bra glared at me from beneath the fabric.

Glancing down at my own attire—a floral patterned skirt, white dress shirt, and mint green blazer. Definitely not your average hiking outfit.

I finally tumbled out of the car, pulling out my cell phone. I noticed a couple walking not too far from us, so I took a couple of photos, sneaking one of Bec. I glanced back down at the screen.

"You look good, Bec," I called, following her down the slope. She had set the hairspray contraption on the picnic table, as well as a bag of camping supplies.

"Thanks, boo," she said absent-mindedly, fingers lingering on the weapon. "We should head out tonight after we eat.

"Alright, but first we set up the tent." I said, the tips of my ears burning. Of course she'd largely ignored my compliment.

—

We wandered back onto the campsite, laden down with a flamethrower, two flashlights, and an empty water canteen. "Ugh!" Bec screamed, sitting down at the table. "No wendigo at all!"

"We still have time, Bec," I soothed, refilling the water canteen and taking a sip. "Let's turn in."

I poured a little drizzle of water over the ashes of the fire, though we'd smothered it before we searched for the monster. Quick glances behind me kept tags on Bec; she'd stripped her shorts and crawled into the tent, where the lantern she'd propped up outlined her against the wall.

My nerves twanged with worry as I went over what I planned on saying in my head, and I quickly put down the canteen.

After the light flicked off, I crawled into the tent. I huddled on my sleeping bag, arms around my knees.

As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I could see Bec's body; from nearly two years of sharing rooms with her I'd grown accustomed to her way of sprawling out across as much space as possible. This time, she lay ramrod straight, back towards me.

She spoke. "What's wrong?"

Breath catching, heart racing, I answered with a question. "Can we talk?"

Sitting up, Bec turned to me. Her hair and eyes were nearly fluorescent in moonlight filtering through mesh siding. "About what?"

"Have you ever dated a girl?"

"Yeah, and everything in between. Why, got your eyes on someone?"

Ignoring the probing question, Ella asked one of her own. "Did you really love Rob?"

The air grew heavy as Bec sighed. "To be honest, not really. He liked me, and I decided I should try a relationship. So I went out with him. I cared about him, of course, but he was never really the one."

Nodding, I rested my chin on my arms. "First relationship?"

"No, but the first with a non-hunter."

"Have your past relationships all been guys?"

"No. Look, Ella, I know what you're getting at." Bec turned to face me, and I did the same. "I identify as pansexual, homoromantic."

"Homo—what?" I spluttered, confused.

"Romantic. I find everyone sexually attractive, but wish to have a serious relationship with people of the same gender as me."

"So what could I be?" I wondered, in awe at her confidence in her own sexuality.

"Well, have you ever found anyone sexually attractive?"

"No, not really."

"Asexual, then."

"But that's a biology thing. I can't reproduce by myself."

"In humans, asexuality is when you don't experience sexual attraction. Now, have you ever wanted a romantic relationship?"

I drew in a deep breath and unfolded my body, leaning forward. She was only two or three inches from me; I blinked.

"Yes, but only with one person." I breathed, seeing my foggy reflection in her ice blue eyes.

She shifted, only bringing herself closer. "You could be demiromantic. It takes friendship to make you comfortable enough to see them in that way."

"Maybe." The word was barely audible, but that probably had to do with the fact that I'd leaned in and kissed Bec. "Maybe."


End file.
